Honor Thy Mother
by mabelreid
Summary: One Shot When Reid was eighteen he was forced to commit his mother to Benninton Sanitarium. Will her words, written in a moment of lucidity when he was child, free him from his guilt. No spoilers or pairings.


**_Disclaimer: See my profile_**

**_A/n the time frame for this is before the beginning of the series. Reid is eighteen. Some of the dialogue is taken from "Revelations."_**

He stood in the door of her office. There were books on every surface. A paper she'd been attempting to write in her more lucid moments lay unfinished on the desk. It was a hand written manuscript that had many red slash marks from her editing pen. She had hated computers and spell check. She said that it was the crutch of the uneducated to use a grammar or spell check.

How was he going to pack it all up and decide which books she'd want with her? His hands were shaking and his throat hurt, trying to keep back the flood of tears that wanted to fall. It had been the right thing to do despite her ranting that he didn't care about her.

He looked at the chair she'd used and had so recently vacated. She was sitting there again looking at him as though he had betrayed her in the worst possible way. She had looked at him the same way she'd looked at his father when he said he was weak and had to go away.

There had been tears in her eyes and her lip had started to tremble when the men from Bennington had come into the room with him.

"_They can't be here without permission… Tell them Spencer."_

"_I called them…"_

"_Spencer…"_

"_I'm doing this for you."_

"_This isn't legal."_

"_Your son is eighteen ma'am, he can act in your welfare."_

"_You need help."_

"_I want to stay here…"_

"_I'm sorry…"_

"_Please… these are my things, this is my life!"_

"_I'm sorry…"_

"_Spencer, please don't do this to me!"_

The way she had cried and begged him not to let them men take her away. The way he'd cried after she left. It was still so fresh in his mind. How could he come in here now and organize her things?

He stood still in the doorway and looked at the overflowing trash can that held her failed attempts to write while the voices in her head spoke, and whispered, and threatened.

He looked down at the dark brown carpet on the floor inside her office and willed one of his feet to cross the threshold. His right foot wouldn't take the first step and neither would his left. It was like they'd become stuck in cement.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he lost the battle in controlling the frustration and unhappiness that had been with him for the last two weeks since she left. They said that she was doing well. They said that she was getting the best care. They said that soon they would have her condition under control - there was no cure - there was only possible control.

Still, he went to see her everyday and she wouldn't talk to him. She wouldn't look at him and sometimes she would just stare out the window and cry.

He looked at the window next to her desk and watched the rays through the panes fall on the unorganized mess on its dusty surface. Once… she had been so tidy and neat, never a reference book or text book out of place on the shelves. Now everything was unorganized and cluttered. It was as though a different person had worked there, someone that had taken over his mother and destroyed the person she had been.

He tried to make his feet go forward, but she was still there, still berating him for taking her away. She didn't want to hear that is was for her own good. She had cursed him and screamed that she hated him as they put her into the small van they'd driven to their home.

His right foot took a step into the room and he found that the invisible hands that had held him back were gone. Ironically there was no relief in being able to move into this room. His left foot joined the right and his back was the only thing that faced his world This was her world and it always would be no matter if he packed away her things or left them all there to rot.

His eyes fell on a stack of books in the corner of the room. He trudged over to them, tears running down his face and over his cheeks and chin to the collar of his shirt. He could still hear her voice raging at him as they took her away for good.

The books were several of her poetry books. On top of the stack was a very old copy of Robert Frost that she had kept from her childhood. Her mother had given it to her for her twelveth birthday and it was her most prized posession.

He sat down on his haunches, opened the book, and began to turn the familiar pages. She'd read many of these poems to him and even though it was all in his eidetic memory he read the book from cover to cover. At the back of a book, a letter fell out to the floor.

He stared at the folded over piece of paper until his legs began to go numb. He would just pretend that the piece of paper didn't have his name written on it in his mother's handwriting. It was a mistake… He'd just leave it there and pretend that he hadn't seen it. It could only be the ramblings of a disturbed mind.

He stood up, left the book lying open on the floor, and walked out of the room. It was nearly time for lunch and when he came back, he'd throw the note away without reading it and that would be that.

Two hours later he was sitting on the floor of her office and picking up the note. He looked at his name and it was like an accusation.

_Just open it and you'll know…_

_I don't want to know!_

_Open it!_

_No!_

He turned it over and unfolded it. The paper almost tore in his hands and his throat constricted at the sight of more of her handwriting. The page was dated October of 1994. It was written just days before his thirteenth birthday.

_Dear Spencer,_

_I never told you how proud I am of you and everything you have accomplished at such a young age. I am proud of you. I want to tell you that I'm sorry I missed your graduation for high school. I wanted to go, but well… you know that was a bad day for me. I don't use that as an excuse, only as an explanation. _

_Now it's your thirteenth birthday and you're officially a teenager. You're smart enough to know what's been happening to me since before your father left us. In my most lucid moments I know that I am getting worse every day. Soon, there will come a time that you'll be forced to send me away, or seek the help of someone that can make those decisions. I'll never do it myself, because I'm too afraid to face the truth. I'm sorry that it has to fall onto your shoulders. I'm sorry that I'm weak. _

_Before the dark times close in on me and leave me unable to tell what is real and what is just in my mind, I want to tell you that I love you very much. Please believe that no matter what I say or do. When the time comes that you have to send me away, do it and know that I know somewhere deep inside that it's for the best. _

_Remember… I'm proud of you. I know that you'll become an exceptional man because you are an exceptional child. _

_I love you always and forever. _

_Mom_

She must have written it and then forgotten to give it to him when her next episode clouded her mind once more. He dropped the letter to the floor and sobbed. All of the blame and the guilt he'd lived with for months overwhelmed him. He cried till his head split from the pain of expended emotion. She'd known that he would have to send her away and it was okay. It was okay!

He stood up and put the book back on top of the stack he'd gone through. Tomorrow was time enough to clean up and to decide what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

_Thank you mom …_

The guilt was still there, but at least he knew that deep down she didn't blame him, that there was a part of her that knew she needed help. Maybe one day he'd learn to forgive himself.


End file.
